Jongin sits in front of a half finished painting, eyebrows furrowed and brush clutched tightly in one hand. The brush strokes on the canvas are harsh and erratic and it perfectly reflects the feeling of discontent bubbling underneath his skin. The colors are off. The shapes are unsymmetrical. And everything is just wrong, wrong, wrong.
Jongin drops the paintbrush on the table next to him with a growl, not caring in the least that paint has just splattered everywhere, and reaches up to tear down the painting in frustration. The coarse paper rips easily and his past week’s efforts are thrown to the floor with a crash.
Suho rushes in at the noise but as he spots the destroyed piece of art, his look of initial surprise is quickly replaced with an angry glare.
"Jongin," he sighs. "The art exhibit is in a month, we don’t have time for this."
The brooding artist wipes his hands on his paint covered jeans with an annoyed scowl. “I’ll just start again, it wasn’t good enough.”
"That’s what you said about the last seven paintings that you trashed," Suho huffs.
"What do you want me to do," Jongin spins around, completely livid. "I said, it wasn’t good enough. Last time I checked, I was the artist and you were just my agent.”